


A Clean Slate

by The_Problematic_Blender



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Dystopia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7168997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Problematic_Blender/pseuds/The_Problematic_Blender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over twenty years ago, the world's countries decided that history was holding them back and creating too much for the public to know about. With that, they created the Clean Slate World Act, something that every country was forced to follow. Everyone was told it was supposed to unify the countries and create world peace, but what it did was form the countries into a single state with heavy rules over their heads. Anyone that dare opposed was slaughtered.</p><p>There was no more learning about history. Nearly all of the books were burned, and whole schools were torched to the ground. Art danced between the lines of legal and illegal, daring anyone to come create more.</p><p>That was over twenty years ago, and now artists Miles Luna and Jon Risinger, co-founders of their company Early Night Art and Photography, are learning just how much the government has covered up, and just how much some people are risking their lives to bring to the public.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Brave New World and The Giver.
> 
> Dedicated to all the people who were betrayed, broken, or beaten in their history.

“Jon.” Miles called out, getting the attention of the older man. “What do you remember about before the Purge?”

“Why are you asking?” Jon asks, coming from the downstairs. Miles points to the camera that was in the living room. It’s red light that had illuminated the room during the night was off. “How’s that-” The lights in the house began to flicker, the two watching carefully until the lights flickered off, encasing the apartment in darkness. Everything electronic in the apartment shut off with a dying hum, the only light source being the moonlight filtering in through the windows. Miles hurries over to the balcony door, looking out the glass door.

“The whole city’s out of power.” He says. “Which means the government can’t hear us.” Jon looks at the camera once more, were it was perched against the wall, watching below. Jon sighs, saying “Fine, but on the balcony.” Jon can’t see Miles’ face in the darkness, but he doesn’t have to to know he’s excited. “I’ll wash up and join you.”

Miles practically rips the door off it’s hinges in his excitement, an action that makes Jon smile. He goes to the kitchen sink, turning on nearly scalding hot water, and attempting to scrub the paint from his skin. It's three minutes before he feels like he's done the best, squinting in the dark to see if he missed a spot. Just in case, he doesn't dry his hands with the nice hand towels, acrylic paint is a bitch.

He walks to the balcony door and pushes it open carefully, letting it close in the same gentle movement. Miles is in one of the outdoor chairs, his knee bouncing with either hyperactivity or excitement. Jon smiled at Miles’ excitement, sitting in the other chair. The city was dark, nearly quiet, especially now.

“How old were you?” Jon asks.

“Five.” Miles answers.

“Fuck.” Jon says. “You really were young, weren’t you?” Miles nods. “Gosh, I was eleven when it all happened.

“Tell me about everything.”

“I remember going to school, and learning about ancient civilization and authors from different time periods, and then school was canceled. I was so happy because it’s school, but after a week or so, I started to miss it.” Jon laughs quietly. “I remember my parents keeping the news on at all hours, watching them struggle to use the first amendment to it’s full extent.”

“The first amendment?”

“When the United States was, well, an actually country, you remember what the United States was, right?” Jon continues when he gets a nod. “Well the amendments were this long list of human rights, the United States had them to tell everyone what rights they had, no matter who they are. The first thing the government did was try to remake the amendments.”

“How different are they from the Human Rights?”

“Very. There were many more amendments than Human Rights.” Jon answers. “We also had a broken ass government, even more broken than now.”

“Damn.” Miles says.

“For different reasons, though. They argued about the dumbest shit.”

“Like?”

“Should all people be able to go see a doctor and not worry about paying for it?”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” Jon looks down to the city once more. The curfew made sure no one was out, so there was no human noise throughout the outdoors. “What do you remember?”

“Not much.” Miles says. ‘I remember my parents… my parents being caught teaching me.” Miles looks at his hands. “I remember getting sent up here after that, being separated from my brother and abuela. I remember-”

The whole city came to life with a loud hum, nearly blinding Miles and Jon as it did so. Miles sighed. “Come on, let’s get back inside.” Jon says. “We have work to do anyway.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jon held onto Miles’ hand as they walked down the street, people bustling around them. Miles eyes were trained down on the sidewalk, cloudy and unseeing. Jon learned long ago that the ADHD medication that the government gave out did this to Miles, that it had something other than just the drug meant to help him focus. It made is so Miles couldn’t see certain things. He couldn’t see graffiti, people engaged in a crime, or even people that lived on the street. Not even when Jon took a photo of it could Miles see it. It baffled Jon how the government could do a thing, how they could make people not see certain things.

Miles intrusted Jon to lead him through the mass of people, even though he could see them. Miles said that he didn’t feel physically there when he first takes the medication, to the point where he was downright uncomfortable at the thought of taking the medication, but if he didn’t, he couldn’t focus. Jon was blessed that he didn’t need medication, he hated how zombie-esque people turned into when on government issued medication. He held onto Miles’ hand with a solid grip, leading him to the shuttle they took for work.

Jon watches a police car roll up the road that was empty ever since the Purge. Cars being banned for public use sure stopped traffic problems. The only vehicles allowed were government issued vehicles and shuttles. Jon takes the camera around his neck and turns it on, holding it up to where the police car is. He takes a photo when it drives by, quickly shoving his camera back down when he had the shot. Miles gives Jon a look, and Jon shakes his head.

“I'll tell you later.” Jon promises, and Miles goes back to staring blankly at what's in front of him. Jon sighs, continuing to lead Miles down to the shuttle station

The shuttle station was a small building that organized all the traffic in the city. If you need to get somewhere far, a shuttle was your best bet. It was always bustling from seven to nine, but thankfully, Jon and Miles’ odd job let them go after the rush was all said and done. They were forever thankful about that.

“Hey Meg!” Jon greeted the desk worker as he and Miles approached the front desk. Meg was a good friend of the two, a natural model that was willing to help Jon when he gets freelanced for photography jobs. She was stuck working at the shuttle station until she was noticed by a entertainment company that needed another pretty face.

She looked up from her work, filling out an extensive document. “Hey Jon, Miles! How are you two doing?”

“Fine, you?”

“Fine. The government is keen on slowly removing my time off work, though, so that sucks.” Meg says. “But I shouldn't be talking, you have places to be, don't you?”

“It's fine, we're friends.” Jon says. “Plus we have a pretty open time frame this time around.”

“That's nice, what's your guys’ job today?” Meg asks, getting out the shuttle documents and filling them in from memory.

“Heading all the way out to Westport.” Jon answers, and Meg stops writing.

“Westport?” She asks.

“Yeah,” Jon answers with caution. “why?”

“Nothing!” Meg quickly replies. “It's just that, that's were all the government officials live, and you know their stance on art.”

“We were surprised to, but they're paying a lot of money for our service, so we might as well take advantage of it.” Jon says with a shrug.

“Just keep your wits about you.” Meg hands over two tickets, boarding passes for the shuttles. “You never know how far they're willing to go to get someone behind bars.”


	3. Chapter 3

Westport was an exclusive region of Boston, made for the people that had power in this city. The buildings weren’t cardboard cutout apartment complexes, they were extravagant mansions with the greenest grass and gates with little keypads on them. They had gold and silver trimmings as decoration, fountains that sprayed crystal blue water, and topiaries that depicted basic geometric shapes.

Jon and Miles had never had a job in Westport. The two were artists, and while they made a good wage, their jobs were always at stake. The World State was continuously arguing about if art constituted as a pillar of history. All art was destroyed with the rise of the World State, but it was still a heated argument within the government. It remained legal, but there was heavy restrictions on it.

While Jon and Miles are law abiding citizens and art was legal, most of the people in power despised art, which made this commission odd. Another odd point was that he wanted them to work at his house. They were wary of what these meant, but the hefty price they offered for their services persuaded them to take the job. With a refresher on the rules and regulations of art creation, they were ready to defend themselves. 

The person who ordered the commission lived in the smallest home in Westport. It wasn't groomed to the intricacies of the other yards, and was way less extravagant than the other homes. That being said, it was still huge. The gate was wide open, and Jon and Miles went through it gingerly, looking entirely out of their league here.

Jon looks at Miles before knocking on the door. Miles didn't return his gaze, and Jon sighed as he firmly rapped on the door. When the door opened, they were surprised to see a man significantly shorter than the two. The man smiles a kind smile to them.

“Early Night Art and Photography?” He asks. Jon nods.

“Yeah, I'm Jon Risinger, and this is my partner, Miles Luna.” Jon answers.

“I'm Jeremy Dooley, first name basis is fine.” He says, opening his door all the way and moving to the side. “Please, come in.”

While the house was huge, it was rather small compared to some of the houses on Westport Jon has photographed for a magazine. The furniture was more practical than what he's seen, and instead of looking like luxurious but stiff, it looked like a home that was sturdy enough for a family.

“Nice place.” Miles’ monotonous tone makes it come out as sarcastic.

“He’s on medication.” Jon answered without the question.

“I assumed so.” Jeremy responds, closing the door behind the two. “So, uh, I got all the supplies you said you needed. I got the paint tarps and the canvas since you said it was too big to transport without issues. It’s over here.” He leads the two over to the living room, where furniture is moved out of the way for painting space. There’s a huge rectangular canvas resting awkwardly on presumably the biggest easel he could get, which was not big enough. There’s paint cans on a stool, unopened.

Miles shakes his head. “This won’t do.”

“What?” Jeremy asks.

“It would be better with a canvas this big, it would be better to set it on a flat surface, especially since you wanted a… splattered design, correct?” Miles looks over at Jeremy, and Jeremy nods.

“How big should the table be?”

“As big as the canvas is preferable, but anything would do.”

Jeremy thinks for a moment. “We could move this to the dining table.” Jeremy suggests.

“Will it be okay to leave it there for a few days? It make take a while.”

“Yeah, there’s not many that come here on a daily basis.” Jeremy answers with a small laugh. Miles carefully picks up the blank canvas.

“Jon, tarps?” Miles asks, and Jon nods, moving to move the easel and stool off the tarps as Jeremy led Miles to the dining table. Jon always thought Miles was fucking creepy on his meds. He was monotone and emotionless, and extremely proper in his speech. Jon preferred the lively Miles, the one that smiles wide and laughs and has more than one tone and expression.

“Thanks for taking this job.” Jeremy says, Jon looks back to see him walking towards him, going to gather the paint for Jon.

“Why?” Jon asks.

“No one else would take the job. Not any official art companies, at least.” Jeremy says.

“Well the terms you set weren’t exactly friendly.” Jon points out.

“They’re not?”

“No, especially with your power.”

Jeremy snorts. “The only reason I have power is because of my parents.”

“It’s still power.” Jon shrugs, all the large tarps now gathered up. Jeremy has all the paints in hand as he leads Jon to the dining room.

“Just set the things down. I’ll take care of them.” Miles says. The two oblige his monotonous order. “Jeremy, can you direct me to your bathroom?”

“Yeah, go out the door to the right of the fireplace, it’s the third door on the left down the hall.” He points out back into the living room. Miles nods and takes his leave, and Jon decides to set the tarps for him while he’s gone.

“You two are brave for being artists.” Jeremy comments. Jon didn’t realize he was still in the dining room, sitting in a chair and watching Jon throw the old paint tarps over the polished wooden table.

“And you're brave for commissioning us.” Jon returns.

“I'm not a political person.” Jeremy shrugs.

“Why not?”

“Never liked politics, they were always too bland for me. My older brother is the politician in the family. I run the Westport Independent.”

“The state newspaper.”

“Yeah.”

“I was never much of a--” A scream interrupted Jon’s words, both men jumping at the sudden noise. Jon knows the scream well, after living in the slums of the city with him before they moved into something that could pass a safety inspection. “Miles..?”

Jeremy’s eyes widen with realization. “Shit!” He gets up from where he’s sitting, rushing out of the living room, and Jon quickly follows him with a worrying feeling.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, huh?

Miles was never a brave person. He jumped and he screamed and he clung to Jon at any sudden noise or unexpected person. And because of it, it led to trouble for him.

For instance, just now.

Miles dried off his hands and looked around the bathroom. It was fancy, but still modest compared to some bathrooms he has been in. Photography buffs always blew their load on the weirdest shit. Rich people always blew their load on the weirdest shit in general.

Miles opens the bathroom door and is suddenly greeted with someone he was not expecting and he's never met, and Miles screams and the guy screams and then the guy falls over Miles covers his mouth in shock because _oh my god Miles killed a man._ Miles doesn’t know what to do, he just stands there in utter horror.

"Miles!" Jon calls. Miles looks up, seeing Jon and Jeremy running up to him.

"Imsosorryheststartledmeididntmeantoimsorry." Miles babbles, mouth still covered by his hands.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Jeremy says, bending down next to the unconscious man. "I should have told you that there was another person here."

Jon's arms are around Miles, and Miles instantly feels better. "Is he okay?" Jon asks.

"Yeah, he has something were one of his symptoms is syncope and he _should_ be taking medication for it."

"Syncope?" Jon repeats.

"Fainting. He faints a lot." Jeremy looks at Miles. "You didn't do anything wrong. It happens often." Miles' hands are shaking, but he nods. Jon rubs Miles' back soothingly.

The man on the floor mumbles something, and everyone's attention is drawn to him. He opens his eyes and looks around, eyes locking on Miles and Jon before mumbling something out that Miles can't understand.

"What happened?" Jeremy asks, looking at Miles.

"We ran into each other." Miles says, hands since moved from his mouth. "I opened the bathroom door and he was on the other side, and it startled me."

The man on the floor mumbles something that sounds like "Sorry."

"I should... get back to the... the thingy." Miles says.

"Right." Jeremy says. "I'm gonna stay with him and make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

"I've been asking a lot of questions, but who is he?" Jon asks, pointing to the man on the floor.

The man on the floor gives a weak salute. "Hi. 'M Trevor."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look I updated it faster

“It’s done!” Miles calls, making Jon look up from his camera. The painting took an extra day to do after one of Trevor and Jeremy’s cats stepped in paint and proceeded to walk all over the still wet paint on the canvas. When Miles noticed and tried to get the cat off, it bolted and ran off somewhere in the house, leaving a trail of black and magenta pawprints that Miles and Jon cleaned from the floors while Trevor and Jeremy tried to coax the cat out from under a couch so they could wash its paws. Ever since, Jon has been on guard duty to protect the painting.

Jeremy walks into the dining room, a smile forming on his face when he sees the painting. “You did an excellent job, thank you.” The large canvas was coated in black paint for a base before being splattered with bright shades of purple and pink paint, contrasting nicely against the black. “Trevor, come in here!”

“Do I finally get to know what you were so excited for?” Trevor asks as he walks into the dining room, joining the three and standing beside Jeremy. He takes one look at the painting and goes, “You fucking asshole.” Jeremy giggles.

“Do you dislike it?” Miles asks. Jon swears he can hear emotion in Miles’ voice. Miles has been seeming less drugged altogether since that first day when he ran into Trevor.

“Oh, no, it's great!” Trevor says quickly. “It's just that I'm colorblind. Purples and pinks are nearly indistinguishable for me.”

Miles turned to Jeremy. “But you specifically asked for the splatters to be purple and pink.”

“I know.” Jeremy says before turning to Trevor. Jeremy has to stand on his toes to kiss Trevor, as he's nearly a foot taller than Jeremy. “Happy anniversary, honey.”

Trevor rolls his eyes and smiles. “Yeah, happy anniversary.”

Jon grins and shakes his head. “You two sure are something.”

“Something that's paying you for your work.” Jeremy points out.

“I never said it was a bad thing.” Jon says. Before anyone can say anything else, a phone rings, and Jeremy sighs before digging his phone out of his pocket.

“Excuse me, this is one of my writers, I need to take this.” Jeremy says.

“Do you mind if we take photos of the painting?” Jon quickly asks.

“No, not at all.” Jeremy says before answering his phone and hurrying out of the room. Jon notices the frown on Trevor’s face as he watches Jeremy leave, but he doesn't comment on it. Besides, it's gone before Jon would have a chance to, turning back to the two.

“I'll go get your pay, and then you can excuse yourself when you're done.” Trevor says. “Sound good?”

“Yeah.” Miles answers. Trevor forces a smile before walking out of the dining room. 

There's a few beats of silence before Jon says something. “You noticed it too, didn't you?”

“Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

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